


The Worst Kind Of Pain

by monsterhugger



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Burns, M/M, Post-Episode 169-Fire Escape, this will be non-canon compliant in a week but like. let me have this, wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24429514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterhugger/pseuds/monsterhugger
Summary: Martin didn't make it out of Jude Perry's domain unscathed. Jon wants to make things better.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 85





	The Worst Kind Of Pain

Martin’s hair was frayed and blackened on the ends. His clothes were covered with holes , exposing bright red flesh underneath. The frames of his glasses were warped, half-melted by the heat of the flames. Red marks covered every inch of his body, blistering and blackened in some places. Jon tried not to look as he led Martin out of the burning building. He listened to Martin’s pained coughs behind him, the only reassurance he had that Martin was still there. Only when they emerged from the building, into a clearing of dead grass, did he turn back to face Martin again.

Martin collapsed into the grass, wincing as the raw flesh of his knees hit the ground. He raised his singed hands to his face, carefully removing his warped glasses and rubbing his smoke-stung eyes. The smoke inside the building had prevented him from audibly crying, but now that he was out in the fresh air Jon could hear it, muted whimpers and shallow breaths and the occasional yelp of pain.

Jon kneeled in front of Martin. His body was undamaged by the flames, and he could comfortably kneel on the rough carpet of dead grass. Martin pressed his hand to the ground, attempting to adjust himself so there wasn’t as much pressure on his burned knees, but he quickly pulled his hand away when he felt the screaming pain in his palm. The flesh was a disgusting shade of red, blistering and sticky with pus. He squeezed his eyes closed, disgusted at the wounds. He hated burns. He hated them. He would’ve preferred almost anything else.

Jon tried to rest a hand on Martin’s shoulder, where the fabric of his shirt was still intact and presumably it wouldn’t hurt so much. Martin still flinched, but when Jon pulled his hand away Martin quickly pulled it back. He breathed heavily through the pain, in his hand but also all over, enveloping his body in that awful sensation.

“Martin, I’m sorry,” Jon whispered. “I never should’ve taken you in there. I mean, look at you-”

“It’s _fine_ ” Martin interjected. “It had to be done. I’ll live.”

“Look at you!” Jon repeated. “I can’t believe I let this happen.”

Martin looked down at himself, at his ruined clothes, his ruined skin. He looked at Jon’s hand, the one Jude had burned, forcing himself to look at the awful mess of scars covering it. It was a mess of uneven, discoloured flesh that covered his palm and nearly half the back of his hand, awful lines crossing his fingers where Jude had placed her own fingers. He knew how it felt to hold Jon’s hand, the way the skin felt thick and rough and just wrong. That hand looked and felt horrible, no matter how much Martin tried to convince himself it didn’t, told himself that he loved every inch of Jon and didn’t mind all his many, many scars. Most of the scars he didn’t mind all that much, he’d quickly gotten used to the little dots from the worms and the multiple long, harsh lines from where he’d been sliced or stabbed. But Martin hated that hand. He’d lie about it, to Jon and to himself, but he hated it. It was disgusting.

And now his entire body was going to look and feel like that hand, distorted and discolored and wrong. He hated burns, he hated the way they healed, leaving such awful marks. He hated the pain too, he hated the searing, itching pain covering his body. He hated the way the dead grass and the singed remains of his clothes and hair stuck to the wounds. He hated the way his burned flesh felt when he moved, like it was too tight around his bones and it was going to split open at any moment.

“Do you want to stay here for a while?” Jon asked.

Martin looked up at him, tears streaming down his face and fogging his glasses. He didn’t try to wipe them away, the skin of his cheeks and hands too sensitive and stinging.

“Do we need to keep moving?” Martin asked, wincing as he tried to shift himself to his feet.

“Not if you don’t want to,” Jon replied.

“If we need to go, I-I can go,” Martin said. He tried to stand up, but Jon gently pushed him back down.

“Martin, listen to me. If you need a moment, we’re taking a moment. I’m not doing anything you’re not ready for. Not again.”

“Jon, it’s not your fault. You did what you had to.”

“I hurt you,” Jon said, looking away from Martin to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. “You told me you were scared. You told me how much you hated burns, and look at what I did. Look what I did to you.”

“I told you to do what you needed to do. And you did. And that’s okay.”

“Maybe it was the best thing to do. Maybe it needed to be done. But that doesn’t mean it’s okay.”

“You said no permanent damage, right? The burns… they’ll heal. It’s okay.”

“Well, yes, they’ll heal. I didn’t mean they won’t scar.”

“I mean, that’s alright, isn’t it? You’ve got your scars, I’ve got mine.”

“You did say you hated the way burns scar.”

“I suppose I did, but… it’s not that bad.”

“I’m still sorry. I still never wanted to see you like this, I never wanted you to get hurt like this-”

_”Stop it.”_

Jon blinked, looking at Martin sadly.

“I know you’re sorry! Just drop it, alright? You fucked up. It sucks, and it hurts a lot, but you had to know something was going to happen, right? You’re the one who knows everything, you had to know dragging me out into the apocalypse with no way to defend myself was going to hurt me. And that was a risk you were willing to take.”

“Martin, I never wanted to put you in danger. I swear I didn’t, you know I wouldn’t do that.”

“And yet,” Martin muttered. “And yet.”

“I thought I could protect you.”

“Did you, now.”

“Yes! I really did think you’d be okay. I did. I mean, I didn’t get burned. That has to count for something, right? Jude couldn’t hurt me, I guess I thought that would mean I could protect you too, but I suppose not. I should’ve been more careful. And I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s fine.” Martin finally pushed himself to his feet, and Jon didn’t stop him.

“Are you sure you’re ready to leave?” Jon asked, standing up and remaining as close to Martin as he could without touching his sensitive skin.

“Yes. I can bloody handle myself. Let’s go.”

They walked through the ruined grass, Jon resisting the urge to take Martin’s hand.

“Martin, are you angry with me?”

Martin grumbled.

“No, I’m not angry with you. I’ve told you a hundred times already, it’s _fine._ Forget about it, alright?”

Jon looked at Martin, glancing over his burned clothing and discoloured skin.

“Don’t look at me, if that’ll help you forget,” Martin snapped.

“I don’t mean the burns,” Jon said. “I mean… well, I don’t know what I mean, to be honest. You just seem upset, and I’m… I’m not going to say I’m sorry. I just feel like I’ve upset you.”

“You think?” Martin scoffed.

“I know, okay? I know. Is there anything I can do?”

“Well… no, I suppose not. I’m just upset.”

“Martin, please.”

“I get it, okay? I get that you feel bad, you want to help, you want to make this better. You feel like this is your fault, all of this, and you know what? I really, really want it to not be your fault. But sometimes I just can’t get it out of my head, you know? Like, sure, it wasn’t all your fault. Maybe it wasn’t even a little bit your fault. But I just keep thinking about how if I’d just never known you, or if you’d told us how to get out, maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess. And _yes,_ I know that means I would be out here getting terrorized by one of those things, but… I don’t know. I guess that’s why I didn’t want to have to decide whether to go in the building earlier. I don’t want to be a part of this, not really.”

“Believe me, Martin, I don’t either.”

“But you have to be! I mean, look at _yourself,_ Jon. Jonah chose you. Not me. You’re the one who chose me.”

“I… I suppose I did.”

“Because you love me. Which I suppose is what I wanted, anyway.”

“But you didn’t know it would end like this.”

“No. And neither did you. So I can’t be mad at you for dragging me into this.”

“I mean, I see where you’re coming from. And I’m… I’m sorry.”

Martin looked over at Jon, and for a moment Jon was convinced Martin was about to start shouting at him, but he didn’t. Instead he smiled, his tear-stained eyes softening and his lips parting just the smallest amount, just enough that it didn’t hurt his stinging cheeks. He grabbed Jon’s hand, and Jon grabbed his in return, holding it as gently and lightly as he could.

“I think there’s a stream up ahead,” Jon said. “We can stop there, get you cleaned up.”

“Oh. Alright, I suppose.”

The rushing water of the stream made a gentle and comforting sound. It seemed so out of place in the horrific apocalyptic landscape, and Jon really did consider that it might be a trap set by one of the Fears. He kneeled down on the bank, looking into the water. It was clear, more clear than most streams he’d encountered in his life, really, and it didn’t smell funny. He stuck his hand in, letting the cool water rush over his hand. It occurred to him how long it had been since he’d actually seen or felt water in this place. He raised his damp hand to his lips, tasting the water for anything that might have been odd about it, but it tasted clean. He nodded towards Martin, and Martin carefully sat down on the bank next to Jon. He didn’t even bother taking off his shoes before dangling his feet into the water.

“If you want to take something off, I can look away,” Jon offered.

“No,” Martin replied urgently. “I-I’m more comfortable if you’re watching. Make sure I’m safe.”

“You know I can’t protect you.”

“Maybe not from everything, but it feels better if I know you’re looking out for me.”

Martin slowly slid down the bank and into the stream, standing so as not to allow his wounds to come in contact with the rocky bed. The water went up to about his waist, which was higher than he had expected but still didn’t provide much relief for the burns on the upper half of his body. It did make the submerged burns feel better, and Martin stood still for a while, letting the cold water wash over him. He figured walking around in cold, wet clothes wouldn’t feel great, but it couldn’t be any worse than the burns.

Jon sat cross-legged on the bank behind him, watching him intently. Martin looked back at him, trying to see his eyes as comforting and not sinister. His gaze was certainly more comforting than most other things in this place, but the Eye was still behind it, giving Martin the uncanny sensation something was staring into his soul.

“What are we going to do about my clothes?” Martin asked, not because he expected a real answer but more so to distract himself from Jon’s piercing eyes.

“What could we do?” Jon asked. “I mean, I wish there was something we could do, but…”

“Yeah, you’re right. Just going to be a bit awkward for a while I suppose.”

“Maybe we’ll find more clothes somewhere. Or maybe they’ll grow back. We don’t know the rules of this place.”

“Yeah. Let’s hope for that.”

Martin smiled, sinking further down into the stream. He still did his best to avoid letting his knees come into contact with the rocks, so he ended up sort of crouching. He sighed contentedly as the water washed over him. He curled his fingers under the water, moving his hand around experimentally. It almost felt normal. It still stung of course, but not nearly as badly. He ducked his head under the water and quickly emerged, enjoying the chill of the air against his damp skin. His hair flopped into his face and he shook his head, spraying water onto Jon in the process. Jon laughed softly. Martin smiled.

“You should get in,” Martin said. “It feels really nice.”

“I’m okay,” Jon replied. “I don’t want to get my clothes all wet.”

“Fine,” Martin sighed. He ducked his head under the water and shook his hair out again, and Jon halfheartedly put up a hand as water splashed onto him.

Martin remained in the stream for a while longer, until he could almost ignore the pain of his burns. Jon grabbed his hand to pull him out, and it hurt, but because it was Jon the touch was also comforting. He stood on the bank of the stream, a puddle forming at his feet as his soggy clothes dripped water onto the ground.

“Feeling better?” Jon asked.

“Yeah,” Martin replied. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have gotten upset with you.”

“It’s okay. We’re moving on, right?”

“Yeah. We’re moving on.”

Martin took Jon’s hand again, his wet shoes making a distinct squishing noise as they walked away from the stream and on toward whatever horrors lay beyond.


End file.
